


took a little while (to find reality)

by breathless_bisous



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, sad gay fuckbuddies is basically the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathless_bisous/pseuds/breathless_bisous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they establish a system, a pattern.  thompson brings the liquor, fucks him hard, and stays longer and longer, always leaving daniel wanting more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	took a little while (to find reality)

the first time it happens, they’re walking back to his apartment (and walking up a flight of stairs with a cripple and a drunk is an adventure in itself he thinks, a little bitterly)  

and then they’re standing in front of his door, and thompson’s leaned forward and his mouth is on daniel’s and before anything can happen, daniel shoves him into his room because _fuck not in front of everyone fuck this isn’t war people will remember fuck this is thompson_

they stand there for a moment, and then daniels sighs.

he closes the door, and it feels like he’s giving up.

thompson’s got those tired, angry eyes he gets when he drinks too much, and he leans forward again, and daniel can’t help the sound that leaves his throat and then he’s against the wall, and thompson’s pressing sloppy kisses along the line of his neck, and his head’s tipped back and he doesn’t know how he’s holding himself up.  his stomach twists painfully when thompson pulls back, and there’s a moment (he thinks there’s a moment)

“keep your fucking mouth shut” thompson says, unnecessarily, voice low and raspy. he stumbles a little, too drunk to stand properly anymore.

daniel lets him take the bed that night.

 

when they wake up, daniel thinks his leg is on fire.  the phantom pains are running up his body and his breath comes out in a hiss.  the cold and the night on the couch have done nothing to help him, and he eases his way up, feels the sweat on his forehead, swears bitterly.

thompson is sitting on the bed watching him.

“give me a hand, would ya?”daniel says, teeth gritted

thompson helps him up, walks him to the shower, and leaves his apartment while daniel lets the cold water chase away the traces of bourbon on his neck.

 

the second time is his mistake.  thompson appears at his door, holding a bottle.

“drink with me” thompson says, and daniel’s always been a little too brave, so he opens the door wider.  he doesn’t have two glasses, so he drinks from his morning coffee mug.  they doesn’t say anything as they drink their way through half the bottle.  it’s dark and thompson’s face is dark and daniel wishes he knew what to say.  

“carter seems like a nice addition-” he manages and then thompson’s mouth is on his.  they’re kissing for what seems like an eternity, and then is daniel up against the bed and thompson above him, breathing hard and grinding against him.  he can’t help the feeling that shoots straight through his stomach as thompson thrusts against him, as he feels the pressure of his dick against thompson’s taut stomach.  daniel reaches down, tries to take thompson’s cock in his hand.  thompson pulls back.

“don’t touch me” he says, voice cold, “you don’t get to touch me.”

“what do you want then?” daniel asks (it’s supposed to be defiant.  it just sounds pathetic.)

thompson unbuttons his pants.

“turn over” he won’t look daniel in the eye.

they fuck hard and fast and when it’s over thompson falls asleep right away.  daniel limps over to the couch.

 

his leg feels worse this time, and he thinks maybe this pattern might start being bad for more than his liver.  when he looks up, thompson’s is gone.  he finds his crutch, showers and drinks coffee.  he feels the phantom leg, and the taste of thompson’s lips, feels his kisses like cigarette burns across his body.   work seems like hell, but he goes anyway, to keep himself away from his bed.

 

the third time, they shower together, thompson fucking him up against the cold tiles, leaving daniel to finish off by himself.  he drinks coffee again, takes the metro to work, and refuses to think about thompson rutting up against him in the supply cabinet while trying to finish his reports.

 

they establish a system, a pattern.  thompson brings the liquor, fucks him hard, and stays longer and longer, always leaving daniel wanting more.  daniel (who always lived with less so others could have more, daniel who pressed bread into the hands of his sisters when his pai died and the great depression left them all at night breathless and cold, daniel who enlisted despite his hatred of guns because he can’t bear the thought of nazi cigarette butts on the graveyards of europe) becomes greedy, trying to touch as much as he can before he feels thompson’s throat close up and his eyes get hard.  he lets thompson thrust against him in the shower, on the bed, against the wall, and he feels himself slipping into pieces each day.

thompson nearly breaks his wrist when daniel tries to take off his shirt, so he stops trying to see, and just tries to memorize the feeling of his chest against his, the cut of his hip bones against daniel’s thigh.

 

they’re at work, and he thompson’s interrogating a suspect (each scream after thompson’s ringing slap brings back the sound of poland and he feels like his heart is speeding up and slowing down and he can’t think and he can’t stop saying _stopstopstopstop_ )

they make him leave the interrogation room.

thompson meets him the bathroom, and daniel can still feel the cool sheen of sweat still on his forehead, the rank smell of vomit clinging to him.

“he caved after you left” thompson says, smooth and clean, smelling like daniel’s soap from this morning, and daniel hates him.

“it wouldn't kill you to be a little kinder to them” he says, sharp, and when thompson snorts derisively, "neither of us are anybody's hero" and thompson’s head whips around.

“i’m not doing you any fucking favors” he snarls “that’s not what this is”

he doesn’t appear at daniel’s door for a week.

when he does, he’s already drunk, and daniel tastes whiskey when their lips meet.  thompson teases him this time, runs a hand down his body, cups his dick through his trousers in one calloused hand.  he lets daniel take off his clothes until thompson’s lying on his bed, naked, and daniel kisses him on his neck, his chest, his stomach, lets his teeth scrape against thompson’s hip bone.  he lets his breath ghost over thompson’s cock, and then he swallows him, relaxing his throat, holding thompson’s hip down in one hand, and the other wrapped around his base.   his tongue runs along thompson’s length and thompson thrusts up against his hand (he doesn’t know if thompson realizes the breathy whines and the strained “more” are his) and he is still sucking when thompson grips the sheets and comes hard, and daniel swallows, as greedily as he’s become.  he can feel his hard cock pressed against the sheets, and he grinds down, searching for whatever friction he can find.  he finds thompson’s hand, and he tips his head back as thompson runs a thumb over his slick tip, as he comes across thompson’s stomach and licks his own arousal from thompson’s body.

daniel refuses to limp over to the couch that night.

 

they wake up wrapped in each other, and he grinds against thompson in his bed, lets thompson get good and hard, and then leaves him aching as he limps to the shower.  thompson leaves before he comes back (he thinks of thompson in his bed, running a hand over his own cock, his breath jagged, muttering swears and daniel’s name and takes another shower.)

they don’t look at each other all day.

 

they shift, and he doesn’t even know how.  one day, he’s fights with peggy (it’s awful and vicious and she gets shot two days later and he apologizes in a string of words that don’t make any sense and she forgives him anyway) but he shows up at thompson’s door with a bottle of gin.  they don’t touch the liquor and he fucks thompson (there is no teasing this time.  he brands his mouth onto thompson’s lips and spreads his legs and feels himself come in a hurried mess of _christ more more you’re so fucking tight oh god please_ and leaves as soon as he can, watching his breath shoot up in puffs as he waits for his train,  shivering slightly in the cold.  he wonders if thompson waits like this, decides probably not.  he can see in his mind thompson walking down the streets, head bent, pacing restlessly through the city, his back stiff from daniel’s weak mattress.  daniel grips his crutch tighter and wishes he’d brought the gin back with him.

 

peggy starts leaving marks on him, lipstick kisses on his cheek and the indent of her manicured nails in his arm.

she means nothing by it (he’s seen the way she smiles at _men_ and the way she smiles at friends and the way she smiles at him and none of them are the same)

the red smudge is still staining his face when thompson knocks.

“don’t let carter touch you again” thompson says, standing at the door.  his eyes are dark and hard and when the door closes, he shoves daniel up against the wall, his breath hot against daniel’s face.

“you are mine.” he says, voice tight with fury, “mine.”

daniel kisses him, hard, and thompson marks his body with bruises, bites his neck, his chest, his thighs.

 

he knows that thompson will never fuck him slow, make him come just to see his head thrown back, eyelashes fluttering, knows that they will never smile in his bed (they aren’t made for love) just as he knows that this will all fade away some day (probably be wiped viciously away-they aren’t made for happy endings either)

but the familiarity of thompson, his steady,calloused hands and blue eyes and slow, dangerous smirk fascinate him, draw him in, break him at night, when he’s just trying to sleep, the el train rumbling by, his hands running the patterns that thompson’s hands have pressed against on his body.

they are two people ( _freaksunnaturalwrongwrongwrong_ ) suspended in something brief and unromantic and practical.

two bodies, that’s all.

 

thompson finds himself a girl, and suddenly his body is gone from daniel’s bed (just when he’s started thinking of it as their bed)

she’s sweet and has a smile as wide as her face and daniel wishes them both luck (as much luck as you can wish when thinking about swallowing his cock to the hilt)

thompson comes into the office one day, _smiling_ , and daniel remembers his mouth, leaving bourbon flavored kisses against his neck.

she has a ring on her finger the next time he sees her, and daniel goes home to his apartment, and smashes his drinking glasses in the sink, sweeps away the remnants of lost nights. the parts of thompson that made their way into his apartment are swept out, onto the back porch, where he smiles at the family next door.

"are you alright, dear?" the mother says, eyeing his bad leg.

"just fine" he smiles, a little tight at the edges

"well, if you need anything i can send one of the kids over." she takes a drag on her cigarette, "you ought to find some nice girl to take care of you properly"

"nice girls aren't easy to come by"

"still," she says "once you find one, i really doubt she'll be able to resist you. my mother would've loved it if i'd come home with someone as nice as you"

"i'm not so sure that's true" daniel says, but he sweeps the shattered glass away from his door, smiles at her briefly

 he ends up drinking the gin straight from the bottle


End file.
